Naamah's Blessing

White Mountain of Iztactepetl, eyeing its plume of smoke warily; but once more, the volcano remained quiet. I prayed it would do so for a good hundred years, and that the Nahuatl might have no cause to placate their gods with blood sacrifice.
    The Maghuin Dhonn are not a folk who relish change, but it comes nonetheless; and that is not always a bad thing. Emperor Achcuatli spoke the truth. The world changes, and we change with it.
    Without change, there can be no growth; and without growth, we stagnate and die.
    The Aragonian port city of Orgullo del Sol had become larger and more refined in our absence, but after the splendors of the great cities of Terra Nova, it still looked crude and rough-hewn to my eyes. Septimus Rousse had had the presence of mind to suggest sending afew members of our company ahead to alert the crew that they might make ready to sail, but by their reactions, I daresay they hadn’t let themselves believe until they saw us.
    Alaric Dumont, the first mate, wept openly as he embraced his captain in the city square.
    “Sorry, sir,” he muttered, dashing his forearm over his eyes. “I fear we’d been running short of hope for far too long.” Turning to Thierry, he proffered a deep bow. “Your highness, I cannot tell you how much it gladdens my heart to see you alive and well. And I speak for all of us when I say it would be my very greatest honor to escort you home and see the rightful heir to Terre d’Ange restored to the throne.”
    Prince Thierry smiled quietly, laying a hand on the fellow’s shoulder. “And I do believe I speak for all of us when I say I would like nothing better.”
    Someone raised a cheer, and it was taken up by scores of voices, ragged and heartfelt. Men pressed close to clasp Thierry’s hand or clap his back. He accepted their acknowledgments with dignity.
    Thierry de la Courcel had also grown and changed.
    Amidst the joyous cacophony, there were a few discordant notes. There was Porfirio Reyes, the mayor of Orgullo del Sol, presiding unhappily over our reception in the port.
    “So you succeeded after all, Lady Moirin,” he murmured to me after the initial exchange of greetings. “Your missing Dauphin’s unfortunate tale has a glad ending. I confess, I did not believe it possible.”
    “I know,” I said. “You made it quite clear, my lord mayor.”
    Porfirio Reyes gave me a shrewd glance beneath his drooping eyelids. “Yes, and I was wrong. But as I recall, you also made it clear that it was not your intention to upset the balance of power in Terra Nova. And yet it has happened.”
    I spread my hands. “The world changes, and we must change with it. You were also wrong in saying I would find little to love in the Nahuatl. There is more to them than stone hearts and stone faces.”
    His voice hardened. “I have not found it to be so.”
    “I have,” I said. “Mayhap you are not trying hard enough.”
    To that, the mayor of Orgullo del Sol had no answer.
    There was also the matter of Alain Guillard and his fellow mutineers, who had rebelled and abandoned our company after the battle with the Cloud People.
    “Your highness.” The Azzallese lordling addressed Thierry in clipped tones, his proud face hot with shame. His co-conspirators wore hang-dog looks. “I freely confess myself guilty of desertion and welcome whatever punishment you see fit to administer.” The other two nodded in abashed agreement.
    Thierry studied them a moment. “I do not by any means condone your disloyalty,” he said presently. “But as this was a voluntary expedition, I do not think you can be considered formally guilty of desertion. I believe Lady Moirin charged you with escorting two men too grievously injured to continue to safety here, did she not?”
    “She did,” Alain Guillard said stiffly.
    “Did you succeed?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then I will consider your service fulfilled.” Thierry paused. “As far as punishment goes, I suspect that the knowledge you will have to live with an act of cowardice and disloyalty on your consciences will suffice.”
    Alain Guillard’s face reddened further, but he made no protest, nor did either of his comrades.
    And lastly there was the matter of Edouard Durel, the sailor who had attempted to steal Captain Rousse’s logbook and sabotage our voyage.
    Thierry had heard the tale, of course. We’d had long months to share the details of our journeys with one another. He ordered the fellow brought to him. There in the square of